The Dance Recital
by PTBvisiongrrl
Summary: Gibbs encourages Abby to take a dance class to combat her work-related stress. Little does he know how her final performance will increase his.


**Title- Dance Recital**

Complete

**Author**- PTBvisiongrrl

**Part-** 1/1

**Date-** 6/28/11

**Rating** – M

**Pairings/Characters**- Gabby

**Warnings-** mature themes, language

**Spoilers- **None. Completely AU.

**Disclaimers-** _Unfortunately, I don't own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…_

**Author's Note:** This story is complete. There will not be any more chapters—it's a one shot, just an idea I had I wanted to get down. Resolution is deliberately vague, and if that will bother you, skip the story now. This was more about practicing characterization and creating a realistic setting than resolving 'ships, just something to work on between chapters of my longer stories in progress. I don't want to start another multi chapter or epic long fic right now. And it was also about trying to right a relatively smutless 'shipping fic. Let me know if it worked.

Gibbs brushed a kiss against Abby's cheek, with his usual "Good job, Abs." He was prepared to walk briskly out as he normally did, but an odd tension in Abby's stance made him pause. "Abs? Something wrong?" he asked.

She opened her mouth as if to say something before clamping her lips shut and giving a one-shouldered shrug. "Nah." Turning back to her computer, she let out an audible sigh.

The usually happy-go-lucky Goth's voice was—tired. Abby never sounded tired, even when she actually was. Gibbs moved behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. "Something's bugging you, Abby. What is it?" Gibbs didn't need the power of a small interrogation room to get answers; when she still hesitated, he kneaded the tight muscles of her shoulders. "You have plans tonight that you had to cancel?"

Leaning into Gibbs' strong grip, Abby let out a sound that was the human equivalent to a contented purr. After a moment, she nodded. "Sorta. Not really plans, per say—a class I was starting tonight."

"Class?" Gibbs was surprised. Abby was already mastered up, twice over actually, and had never talked about a doctorate. What the hell class was she taking?

"A dance class," Abby answered shyly. "Just six weeks. Something I wanted to do for a while. With the hours we work, its kinda hard to do stuff like that." She bit her lip as Gibbs hit a particularly painful spot.

Gibbs studied Abby's reflection in the computer monitor. The woman really did do the work of two people. She usually seemed to have an endless supply of energy, but lately it had been flagging, even when aided with Caf-Pow. Too many cases, too close together, and too many Gibbsian demands for quick results, he guessed. Feeling how close to the edge she might be—and not willing to chance losing his favorite lab tech to burn out—Gibbs asked what she still had to do tonight.

"Waiting for Major Mass Spec to process samples for Balboa." Abby reached for her ever-present Caf Pow! "It's going to take at least three hours for the results."

"Is there anything you need to do but watch it while it works?" he asked. "Because there is no reason to sit here and wait. Go to class, come back when its over, and check the damn machine then."

Abby perked up. "Really? That would be okay? I mean, what if something comes in while I'm out-"

"Nothing will come in that can't wait an hour or two." Gibbs tugged Abby's pig-tail. "Anything does, I'll send McGee down to watch the lab."

Abby jumped up, turning to pull Gibbs into a hug. "Thanks, jefe! I owe you one."

Gibbs smiled at her, his eyes laughing. "This is a dance class, right? You can pay me back by inviting me to your recital or whatever it is you do when its over."

Abby froze for a minute. "Really? You want to come see me perform?"

"Sure," Gibbs nodded. "Don't all classes do that at the end? Just let me know where and when."

"Okay," Abby smiled back at him. She practically skipped out of the lab, balancing her purse and Caf Pow! while trying to pull on her black shawl. It was quite a feat to watch.

NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS

Ziva and Tony had pealed out of the lab, in pursuit of the suspect Abby's forensics had declared the murderer, but Gibbs had surprisingly stayed behind. Abby gave him a puzzled smile, having already received her "Good job, Abs!" kiss.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Abs?" Gibbs asked, retrieving her coat and purse from her desk.

The puzzled look deepened. "What?" she asked.

"Today is Tuesday. Isn't your dance class in an hour?" Gibbs turned her around, sliding the sleeves up her slim arms. Turning her around, he buttoned her up. "You're done for the case; McGee will handle anything that comes in and shut the lab down. Go get something to eat, go to class, relax." Brushing another kiss, this one to her cheek instead of the top of head, Gibbs gently pushed her toward the door. "You work hard and deserve it."

Abby considered Gibbs for a long moment. "And you don't work hard?" she asked, hands on her and waiting for a reply.

"Boats have an independent schedule, Abs," he answered with a chuckle.

Shaking her head, she made her way out of the lab.

**NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS**

Gibbs put on his glasses to check the address Abby had given him again, squinting at her handwriting in the darkness. He was in the right place, but the building did not look like a place for a dance school recital. The plain brick building had evenly set banks of black-painted windows set up high, and double steel doors painted the same shade. In the five minutes he'd been sitting and puzzling out the location, he had seen four women come out, none of whom looked like they belonged in any dance "recital" he'd gone to, and five men enter, none of whom he'd want leering at girls in leotards.

Wondering what the hell kind of dance class Abby had been taking, Gibbs exited his car, locking it behind him.

The black metal doors opened into a small, mostly empty, monotonously black foyer. Gibbs was beginning to see a theme. The only items in the foyer were a tall bar stool (black, of course) and a tank of a man (also in black.) The man crossed his arms, shifting position minutely but in what Gibbs recognized as a defensive move. "There's no cover charge tonight, sir," the man's bass voice echoed in the small area, "if you are here to see the class performance."

Still feeling his gut tugging, telling him something was 'hinky,' Gibbs nodded. "I'm here to see Abby Scuito."

The large man chuckled and raised an eyebrow. "Abby told me to expect you, if you're Gibbs. And from her description, I think you are."

"Yup," Gibbs answered, shaking his head. "That's me."

The man spoke into a small walkie on his shoulder. "Abby's guest is here." Then, to Gibbs, he said, "Stephanie will be here in a minute to show you to your seat. Abby reserved one for you."

It didn't take very long for Stephanie to arrive; her attire made Gibbs's gut feel funnier. Black lace bustier, very short black skirt, and four-inch platform heels. There was only one form of dance that he had ever known to use four-inch heels, and he was not entirely happy that Abby was going to be performing it. Keeping his thoughts to himself, Gibbs followed Stephanie through the now open doors, held by the man Gibbs realized was a bouncer. Sound poured over him and confirmed his suspicions.

Abby had invited him to see her dance at a strip bar.

Stephanie led the meandering way between the tables and the bar, taking him to a booth near the middle of the stage, directly in front of the pole. "Bourbon?" she asked, smiling brightly.

"Yeah, please," Gibbs said. After a moment more thought, he added, "Make it a double."

Gibbs studied the bar and its patrons, ignoring the current dancer in front of him. Before his drink had made it to the table, he had already calculated the capacity of the club, the number of actual patrons, the emergency exits, the location of the back and bathrooms, and the number and responsibilities of the visible staff. Not enough security, he quickly decided, just as Stephanie returned with his drinks on a tray. "Abby will be on in ten minutes; I told her you were here." Putting the drink down, Stephanie smiled. "Need any change?"

"Keep it," Gibbs saying, handing her the money for the drinks.

"Don't need any ones?" Stephanie asked, confusion clear on her face.

Giving it a second thought, Gibbs conceded and passed her another twenty. "Yeah, I guess I do." If Abby was going to play with him like this, he was certainly going to play back. She wanted him to see her like this? Well, he was going to tip her like any other stripper in the place.

Sipping his bourbon, Gibbs tried to figure out why Abby had invited him tonight, why she had never told him what type of dance class she was taking. Nothing should really surprise him about Abby—he knew she played hard and had very fluid boundaries. He was just usually able to ignore those facts and concentrate on the Abby he saw everyday in the lab. Because if he thought about her outside of the lab, his head got confused.

Abby was Abby, and he had long ago decided that he loved her spirit, her energy, her personality. He also loved her youthful exuberance, and that was the sticking point. Abby was too young for him to have thoughts about like he was having thoughts about her. Being invited to a strip club to watch Abby dance? That was way past the line he had drawn for himself years ago.

This was not going to be a comfortable night. But Gibbs, as ethical and honorable as he was, was still a man, and no man would turn down a woman's invitation like this, especially if that woman was Abigail Scuito. This night could fuel another decade of secret fantasies. So Gibbs settled back, leaving the ones in a stack in front of him when Stephanie brought them out to him, and drank until the DJ announced the change in dancers.

Harsh noise, unnamable to him but familiar from Abby's lab, filled his ears as the DJ announced "One of our guest stars for the night, The Mistress of the Dark." Gibbs turned his eyes to the stage entrance, quickly rewarded with the sight of a full-on, vixen-Goth Abby.

Abby's hair was out of its usual pigtails and styled much more Victorian, with a cascade of curls falling from a small twist on the top of her head. Her usual dark eyeliner was enhanced with gray and crimson eye shadow, the crimson matching the glossy shade of her lips. She had even put on pale white foundation and dark red blush. She was Abby but not-Abby at the same time, and altogether sultry. Gibbs felt himself responding to the pout of her lips, and he hadn't even looked over the rest of her yet.

His eyes running the length of her slim body, he noticed that she had a black leather corset with a thong, garters, and stockings. Her over-the-knee boots were spindly heeled, compared to her usual platforms, but left her about the same height. Leather wristbands with a matching collar, all shining with metal studs, completed the look. Looking at the outfit, Gibbs didn't think she was going to actually strip, thank God. Leather corsets were not exactly easy to get out of.

Abby immediately wrapped herself around the pole, spinning so that her hair whipped around, ending up with her back to the pole and legs splayed for balance. She looked up at him through thick, fake lashes encrusted with tiny red rhinestones, meeting his stare straight on and blowing him a kiss before sliding down far enough to rest her shapely rear on her heels.

Gibbs felt his heart rate jump, as well as other body parts.

Abby excelled at pole work, Gibbs decided while watching her. She pulled herself up the pole, flipping and sliding down like a slinky; she held herself immobile and 'walked' the air; she held herself parallel to the bar, straddling it before dismounting. Gibbs was suitably impressed, which he conveyed whenever she met his eyes during her routine. It lasted two songs and left her coated with a light sheen of perspiration.

When the music ended, Abby slinked off-stage and made her way slowly over, stopping to talk to several men and allowing them to tuck dollar bills into her cleavage and string waistband. She was quite adept at avoiding and redirecting wandering hands, though, as well as leaving each 'customer' in her path laughing or smiling. By the time she reached Gibbs, he had himself back under control and was not at all happy about the men she'd talked to.

He took a deep drink from his glass as she finally slipped into the booth next to him. "Thinking of a career change, Abs?" he asked, studying her over the rim of his drink.

She laughed, a full, happy laugh. "And leave my babies? Never. I just wanted to have some…fun." She motioned to the bartender and a Red Bull and Vodka materialized on their table very quickly. Tipping her head back and gulping some, she smiled at Gibbs. "Did you enjoy the show?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Not the show I was expecting."

Abby bit her lip, suddenly unsure. "Well, you never asked what kind of dance class…but since you made sure I could go, I thought you might want to see what I spent my time doing.""

"Is that the only reason, Abs?" he asked, gravel in his voice.

Abby sipped her drink again. "What did you think?" Totally unsure of herself now, he could tell, she tried to redirect him.

Reaching for a dollar bill, Gibbs held it up, folded in half long-ways, before tucking in between her breasts. "I think you invited me without thinking through the consequences."

Abby grabbed Gibbs's hand, holding it against her bustline. "I beg to differ. I thought through the consequences, and don't see any bad ones."

Irritated, Gibbs extracted his hand from hers. Almost in disbelief, he asked, "Are you hitting on me?"

Snorting in disgust, Abby downed the rest of her drink. "Score one for the investigator. What are you going to do about it now, Gibbs? Wanna take me home and get a private lap dance?"

"Abby-" Gibbs's voice was guarded and tight. "You sure you want to do this, with me?"

"What exactly is _this_, Gibbs?" Abby searched his eyes. "Is this one night, a lap dance, a little fun between friends?"

"I don't really do one-night stands, Abby." Gibbs swallowed hard. "If that's all you want, you want someone else. I'm sure there's several men here who would be happy to step in for me."

Crossing arms and giving Gibbs a hard look, Abby sighed deeply. "What if I don't know what it is yet?" she asked.

"Grab another drink, and I'll wait. You have any other, ah, performances tonight?" he asked, trying to keep the suddenly careening situation under control. In all honesty, right now he was unsure what answer he really wanted from her, and equally unsure how he would respond if she wanted more.

"One more set, in about a half-hour," she said. "You'll really stay for it?" She sounded hopeful, and nervous. Had she really thought this through? Just how long had she been thinking about this?

As long as he had?

"Yes," Gibbs nodded, gesturing to the second bourbon as well as the pile of ones in front of him. "I'm well stocked for now, here."

Nodding, Abby rose. "I'll get another drink, and then…"

"We'll talk, Abs," Gibbs assured her, watching the sway of her hips the entire trip to the bar. He decided that he was really hoping for that private lap dance later—and that this would be more than one night.


End file.
